


The "Dammit, Jim!" Chronicles

by sparkysparky



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Deaged Fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Beta Read, i don't remember where this fic was going, not abandoned but not actively working on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkysparky/pseuds/sparkysparky
Summary: Jim's always been good at thinking on his feet. Had to be, growing up as he did. But this time, he may have gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	The "Dammit, Jim!" Chronicles

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a fic I started writing in 2009. I never finished it and I have no idea where it was going. I would like to come back to this, so I'm posting it here to have it someplace easier to access than LJ/DW. Also, I like validations, can't lie. I marked this as complete for now, but I do intend to come back to this. Hopefully. 
> 
> Title: The "Dammit, Jim!" Chronicles Part 3/?  
> Pairing: McCoy/Kirk, established pairing  
> Warnings: Underage (Kirk is (Alien whammied to) 16, but there will be no sexual contact between McCoy/Kirk while Kirk is deaged)  
> Summary: Jim's always been good at thinking on his feet. Had to be, growing up as he did. But this time, he may have gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle.

When Jim regained consciousness, he was immediately assaulted with the mother bitch of all headaches and kept his eyes closed mostly out of the need for his brain to not, you know, explode or anything. Moments later, he was glad that he'd honed his self-preservation skills early because there were people talking and from what his poor brain could process, they were talking about him.  
  
"...That's the Captain, Uhura," a man's gravelly voice was saying. "And he's a goddamn child! What the hell happened down there? It was a fucking routine mission, make contact, get the treaty signed, and get out. That's all. Fuck."  
  
"Don't you think I realize that Leonard? I was there, after all. I tried to keep his fool ass from touching the red button, but did he listen? Of course not, because he's James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the Starship Enterprise, and he always does whatever the hell he wants to!" A woman--Uhura Jim assumes--snaps. He can hear her take a few deep breaths, and then in a much calmer voice says, "From what I could translate from the planet's literature, it's a physical regression only."  
  
Except, Jim could tell her it was not. He was sixteen, and the last thing he remembered was facing down the football team with nothing but a smirk, his fists, and the smug knowledge that getting expelled from this new high school would seriously piss off Step Dad Twelve. (He'd stop remembering their names after number five, there hadn't been much use in making an effort when they only stuck around an average of eight months.)  
  
But these people--Adults, his brain supplied, and therefore Not To Be Trusted--apparently thought he was old enough (and stupid enough) to be the Captain of a Starfleet ship. Which was a delusion on an epic scale as far as Jim was concerned. After all, hadn't he'd heard nearly every day of his life what a disappointment he'd be to his father, how he could never hope to live up to the man's legacy. His father, who'd died as Jim was born, saving hundreds of people in an act so selfless even civilians had a drink in his honor on the anniversary of his death. So the very fact that these people thought he was worthy of being called _Captain_ was completely ridiculous.  
  
Even if a small part of him--a very small part, that he stuffed in a box and shoved in the corner of the furthest recesses of his mind--hoped it was true.  
  
"I surmise that the Lieutenant is correct, Doctor McCoy. Captain Kirk appears to have undergone a physical regression to the time of his adolescence. There is no reason to assume that his brain has been similarly affected until he wakes. At such time, further deductions will be able to be ascertained, and we will be better able to understand the effect the machine had upon human physiology." A second man spoke then, his voice even and without inflection of any sort of emotion, and Jim's still fuzzy mind thought _Vulcan_ , and he filed that away for future use.  
  
"Dammit Spock you green-blooded goblin, I'm a Doctor not an expert on freaky alien tech," McCoy growls, his voice closer this time. Jim makes sure to keep his body relaxed and his breathing even--faking sleep had always been a talent of his--and sure enough there was the familiar beeping of med-tech, and the doctor--McCoy Jim remembered--muttered darkly about idiotic Iowans, who hadn't the sense God gave a flea.  
  
"He's fine physically," McCoy announced after the beeping stopped. "Except for being a fucking teenager, and you'd better hope to Hell that he's actually himself inside there, because I am not putting up with an even more hormonal James T. Kirk, thank you very much. The older version is annoying enough."  
  
Jim fought the urge to sit up and insult the doctor, and reminded himself that it was foolish to have hurt feelings over being called annoying when he'd been called much worse in his life. And he'd never let adults' opinions of him matter. Hell, he'd never let anyone's opinion of him matter. That way, he was never disappointed when they let him down.  
  
"He should sleep. His body will need to recover from the shock before he wakes." Spock again, voice still as emotionless as ever. "I will let the rest of the crew know, and have Sulu set a course back to base."  
  
There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then Uhura spoke again. "Let me know when he wakes up," she said, her voice softer this time. "I'll look over the documents the embassy sent, see if there's more information."  
  
There were muffled sounds of her coming closer, and then she spoke in a voice too low for Kirk to hear what she said, but whatever it was caused McCoy to pound his fist on a table, sending medical tools rattling. It was only years' worth of school his facial expressions to hide surprise and fear that kept Jim's little charade from being discovered.  
  
"It will be all right, Leonard. Jim's been through worse." Uhura said before Jim heard the medical bay doors open and close again.  
  
Jim continued to feign sleep, even as his mind processed what had just happened. He had no idea what to do, or how this had happened, but he knew what he had to do. He couldn't let them know he was only sixteen. That would give them the power, and Jim was really against that possibility. So, he'd let them think he was this grown-up version of himself. He knew enough he could fake it. Spock was apparently First Officer if the way the Vulcan had assumed command was anything to go by. Uhura had to be some sort of linguistics expert if she was translating Alien documents. McCoy was a doctor, likely the Chief Medical Officer if he was treating the Captain. He had more information now than he'd had the time he'd conned his way onto a shuttle flight to Africa, pretending to be the grandson of Ambassador Uriel.  
  
He could so, totally do this. It'd be easy. And far better than any alternative his mind could come up with.  
  
Satisfied with his plan, Jim let his breathing speed up gradually and feigned waking up, pulling himself to a sitting position even though his whole body resisted the action. He'd never been one to procrastinate, and now was as good a time as any to do this.  
  
And he'd just hope he didn't crash and burn.

***

He'd answered question after question (What year is it--2259 according to the calendar above McCoy's right shoulder, which Jim had very carefully not looked at--What's your name, age, and rank, etc., etc., etc, and Jim's even surprised at how easily and smoothly the answers roll of his tongue, glib and confident even if he doesn't feel that way) and suffered through a full physical examination. McCoy had made disapproving remarks about idiots in a gruff, annoyed voice until it was only years of practice that kept Jim from blushing and squirming uncomfortably on the examination table.  
  
"Dammit Jim, you're a Captain, not a schoolboy. What the fuck were you thinking?" It's the first time McCoy is even really speaking _to_ him, and Jim thinks quickly for an appropriate response. He doesn't get the chance though, as McCoy is barreling on, face frozen in a permanent scowl. "You weren't thinking at all. You just reacted, like you always do, and look where it's gotten you. Fuck. You look ridiculous."  
  
Jim glanced down and saw that the uniform he was wearing--black pants, yellow shirt, Starfleet communicator, the standard uniform of a Captain--was way too long in the legs and arms, too broad in the shoulders. He was swimming in the thing actually, which made him almost grin because it meant he would eventually grow into the clothes and stop being this small, scrawny for his age boy with a target on his back.  
  
"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Jim ventured. It was his patented answer to almost everything, and it seemed to work because McCoy's scowl deepened but he didn't say anything else. "And I'm not ridiculous, I'm adorable." He hadn't meant for that to slip out, as his older self probably wouldn't use flirtation as a means of distraction, but McCoy didn't even bat an eyelash, so apparently old habits never died.  
  
"Get out of my sickbay. I have actual patients to see to, and you're in the way" McCoy growled, and started putting away the various instruments he'd used, ignoring Jim as if he was some sort of nuisance in his busy schedule.  
  
It really shouldn't sting as much as it does. He doesn't even know the man, at least not yet, but he can't shake the feeling that McCoy dislikes him. The doctor hardly even looked at his face when he asked questions, and Jim would be relieved at the lack of attention if he didn't want to know what he'd done to make the doctor hate him.  
  
"You're free to go Jim. I'll send a notice to your comm when I need to look at you again."  
  
It was effectively a dismissal and everything he'd hoped for. But, the med bay was all that he knew at the moment, and the thought of going into something unknown made Jim slightly less confident he could pull this off. But he couldn't think of any logical way to stay, without giving the game away, and hopped off the table.  
  
His legs are wobbly but keep him upright, and bites back a whimper of pain as the room tilts on its axis and his head throbs. McCoy doesn't seem to notice, which is all right by Jim. He's suffered through a lot worse and still managed to stay on his feet, a little headache and weak legs aren't going to stop him now.  
  
"Later Doc," he says cheerfully, flashing a bright grin--the one he keeps in store for when he needs to distract people from noticing anything is wrong--and saunters confidently from the room.  
  
It's a confidence that only lasts minutes, as the halls of the Enterprise are twisty and confusing, and before Jim realizes it, he has no idea where he is. Not that he knew where he was, to begin with, but now he doesn't even know how to get back to the medical bay.  
  
It's a gorgeous ship though, and he's distracted more with admiring the design, a strange feeling of peace and comfort coming over him. He felt at home here, as if he belonged, something he'd never felt before. He doesn't even mind being lost, much, even though it gives him a feeling of helplessness that he can't stand.  
  
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, ducking behind a corner to avoid a pair of Ensigns coming down the hall. He's not at all prepared to deal with anyone yet, and why he thought he'd be able to just find the Captain's quarters without any difficultly he has no idea.  
  
"Problems Captain?"  
  
Jim jumped at the emotionless voice and spun around to face Spock, First Officer. He quickly smoothed his face into something less surprised and offered a carefree grin. "Just doing rounds, Commander," he said brightly, flashing the grin again. "Carry on."  
  
He wasn't sure if he actually expected Spock to move along, and wasn't at all surprised when the Vulcan held his ground. He fought the urge to fidget under the other man's intense glare and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from tugging at the sleeves of his too-long uniform.  
  
"Was there something you needed, Commander Spock?" Jim asked, attempting to inflect a tone of superiority into his voice.  
  
Spock's expression didn't change, but Jim couldn't help but feel he was being laughed at. It was something he hated, and he could feel himself bristling at the thought.  
  
"You needn't keep up the pretense, with me."  
  
Jim froze, eyes wide and heart pounding as he stared up at Spock's impassive face. Spock's eyes were shadowed and Jim had no idea what he was thinking. "What pretense? I'm just making sure my ship is running smoothly," Jim said, thinking quickly on his feet, a thousand excuses and stories running through his mind.  
  
"Jim, I know the truth," Spock says firmly, and all thoughts of charming his way out of this disappear. The jig is up, Jim thinks and prepares himself for the worst.  
  
"And I'm prepared to help you."

***

It was better not to give anything away too soon though , so he kept his back straight, shoulders square, and forced himself to look Spock directly in the eyes. It was a tool he'd learned early on; never let them see your fear. "Taking your position as First Officer seriously, aren't you Spock?" Jim asked, hoping that the slight tremor in his voice was unnoticeable. "Just what do you think you can help with?"  
  
Spock's already slanted brows slanted more, and there was a slight quirk to his lips as he replied, "This is not a conversation for the corridors, Captain. It would be best if we retired to your quarters, where there is a modicum of privacy."  
  
_Fuck_ , Jim swore silently. There was no way he could find his rooms, he didn't even know where they were. Spock was playing some sort of game though, and damned if Jim was going to lose. "After you, Commander," Jim said, stepping to the side slightly. "I'm interested to hear what you think you can help with."  
  
Spock stared at him, and Jim swallowed reflexively, but the Vulcan didn't say anything and turned smartly on his heel. Jim fell into step next to him, trying not to notice how much taller and broader Spock was. He'd never liked feeling small and vulnerable, and pulled himself up to his full height, and reminded himself that it wasn't size that mattered, but skill. It helped, a little.  
  
Spock came to a stop several minutes later, and looked over at Jim, face once again expressionless. That was starting to get old, Jim thought petulantly. How the hell was he supposed to worm his way out of this, if there was no way of telling what his opponent was thinking.  
  
"After you this time, Captain," Spock said, gesturing slightly to the keypad.  
  
Jim swallowed, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to get this door opened, when he had no clue what his older self had used as a passkey. "Of course," Jim said, raising a lightly trembling hand, glad for once that the sleeves of his uniform were so long. They hid most of the traces of uncertainty.  
  
The screen was blank, except for the faint outline of a hand. Jim bit his lower lip and refused to look over at Spock, as he placed his hand on the pad, expecting some sort of alarm to go off and inform the ship of his true status. But his hand fit perfectly, palm to fingertip, which struck Jim as slightly odd, but he didn't question his luck. The door slid open, revealing a warm and welcoming room.  
  
Jim let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief and grinned widely at Spock over his shoulder. "Well, come on in then, and tell me how you can help." He strode across the threshold as if he owned the place, which he did, he realized. This was _his_ room, with the large--very large--bed, simulated fireplace, books. Lots and lots of books, and Jim's hands itched to pluck the first one from the shelf. He'd always loved to read, had spent many days hiding from various stepfathers that way.  
  
He tore his gaze away from _his_ books, and arched a brow at Spock. "Well, I haven't got all day. I do have a ship to command." He was feeling more confident now, surrounded by _his_ things. He may not recognize anything, but he felt at home here, like he had wandering the halls of the Enterprise. He was on even ground again, and perched cockily on the arm of a chair as he waited for Spock to reveal what it was he thought he could help with.  
  
"You are very good at playing the role," Spock announced, standing just inside the doorway, motionless. "But there is no logical reason to keep up the pretense within these walls. You are not Jim Kirk."  
  
For the second time in under an hour, Jim had to fight the urge to flee. He swallowed and moved as fluidly as he could further away from Spock, just in case he needed time to prepare for attack. "I don't know what you mean," he said carefully, though there was no hiding the thread of fear in his voice. "Of course I'm Jim Kirk. I'm just a bit younger at the moment."  
  
Spock made no move to get closer to Jim, a fact which Jim was grateful for. He was already trapped in here, with Spock between him and the door there was no escape route.  
  
"You are not _our_ Jim Kirk," Spock said, staring into Jim's eyes. "I believe Lieutenant Uhura was mistaken in her belief that yours is a physical regression only."  
  
Jim forced a laugh, and crossed his arms as he fought off panic. "Doctor McCoy didn't share that opinion. He cleared me enough to leave the medical bay."  
  
"I believe Doctor McCoy's view was colored by the nature of your personal relationship," Spock stated calmly. "Am I wrong, Jim? Are you not mentally as well as physically sixteen?"  
  
So he had been right about McCoy's feelings about him, Jim thought. The doctor _had_ been eager to get rid of him, and that had caused him to overlook something that Spock had obviously noticed. The thought hurt more than it should, and once again Jim wondered why he was so upset that McCoy obviously disliked him. It didn't make sense, as Jim never cared when authority figures hated him. He thrived on it, actually, so why was this different?  
  
"What was the question?" Jim asked, when he realized that Spock was looking at him expectantly. He was trying for flippancy, but his voice came out higher and threadier than normal, completely ruining the facade of calmness he'd wanted.  
  
"The time for games is done, Jim," Spock said, for the first time showing faint signs of annoyance. "The longer this goes on, the more dangerous ground you'll find yourself upon."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." If there was one thing anyone who knew Jim Kirk would agree on, it was that he was a stubborn son of a bitch who didn't know when to quit. "I think you should leave."  
  
"Enough." Spock's voice was cutting and before Jim could even blink the Vulcan had crossed the room and pressed Jim up against the wall. "Enough of this foolishness. I cannot help you if you will not cooperate and help me in return."  
  
"I don't need your help," Jim said, eyes wide. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to shove Spock away, but he knew it wouldn't do any good and he wasn't about to give the older man the satisfaction of seeing he was afraid. "I'm the Captain, after all."  
  
"Precisely, and I cannot allow you to go around without full knowledge of what that means." The cold, expressionless look on Spock's face caused a shiver of fear to run down Jim's spine. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Jim, and as your first officer I cannot allow it to continue."  
  
Without another word Spock raised a hand to Jim's face, and then images and feelings and everything in the universe was flooding into Jim's brain. He gasped, grasping at Spock's shoulders helplessly as year after year of history flowed past his eyes; sorrow, fear, anger and love running in rivers through his mind. It seemed to go on and on for forever, and then he was slumping against the wall, breath coming quick and thready, sweat dripping into his eyes. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he looked up at Spock through tear filled eyes.  
  
"Wh...what did you do?" he asked, struggling weakly until Spock stepped away. His legs were too weak to support him and he slid to the ground, gazing unseeingly at his hands.  
  
"I'm sorry Jim," Spock said, looking almost as affected. His skin was even paler and he backed away until his knees hit the back of a chair and he sank down. "It was the only way. There was no time to play your game of deceit, you did not know what the stakes were if those other than me found you out."  
  
"Why?" It was the only word he could force out, and he raised trembling hands to his eyes to scrub angrily at tears that threatened to fall.  
  
"You are ten years out of your time, Jim, I had to fill you in quickly on those years. This ship cannot afford to have a Captain who doesn't know how it came to be. Our enemies would not be far behind and would take advantage. It was simply logical that you had to be told. And this was the quickest way."  
  
"You're a bastard," Jim said quietly. His head hurt too much for anything else.  
  
"So your older self has told me time and time again," Spock said, a faint smile on his lips.  
  
"We're friends, aren't we? In the future I mean?" Jim no longer had the energy to keep up the pretense, and he knew from...whatever Spock had done to him...that Spock knew the truth and lying would only waste energy.  
  
"Yes. We are friends."  
  
Jim sighed and pulled himself to his feet, though he wanted nothing more than to sink back down into oblivion. "Are you going to tell the others?" Despite the...sharing of minds?...Jim still wasn't certain what Spock's motives were. The other man was impossible to read  
  
"No, this will remain between us for as long as possible," Spock said firmly. "At this time the truth would only serve to cause chaos among the crew. I simply gave you better tools to manage the situation." Spock stood and headed towards the door. "I will leave you to your thoughts now. You should be able to access the Captain's log, should you wish gather your future self's views on things. I will be by in the morning. We often have meetings over breakfast, so no one will find it odd."  
  
Jim only nodded, too weak and in pain to stand up. Spock nodded once, seemed to consider saying something else, but in the end simply turned on his heel and let himself out.  
  
He finally let himself fall apart then. He dragged in huge gulps of air, and let out deep, shuddering breaths. The images from Spock's mind still filled his vision. All those years of history fighting for a place in a brain that hadn't experienced those times yet. He was cold, shaking, nauseous. He didn't know how long he spent huddled on the floor, but finally a knock at the door roused him.  
  
His head hurt less now, more of a nagging pain now than anything else. He moved across the room, stopping only to splash his face with cold water in the bathroom, washing away the traces of tears he hadn't realized he'd shed.  
  
There was another knock at the door, this one louder and more insistent, accompanied by a terse, "Dammit Jim, open up."  
  
McCoy, Jim realized. He wondered why the doctor, who so very clearly disliked him, felt the need to pound on his door in the early hours of the morning.  
  
Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for the worst, Jim answered the door.


End file.
